


Only Say My Name

by SouthernMoonshine



Category: Havemercy Series - Jaida Jones & Danielle Bennett
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Gen, Implied Relationships, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-19 22:52:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1487095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SouthernMoonshine/pseuds/SouthernMoonshine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>I would trade all my tomorrows for just one yesterday.<i> Fire, and falling, and the bitterness of ashes and tears.</i></i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Say My Name

**Author's Note:**

> _Anything you say can and will be held against you_   
>  _So only say my name_   
>  _It will be held against you_   
>  _Anything you say can and will be held against you_   
>  _So only say my name_
> 
> _If heaven's grief brings hell's rain_  
>  _Then I'd trade all my tomorrows for just one yesterday_  
>  _(I know I'm bad news)_  
>  _For just one yesterday_  
>  _(I saved it all for you)_  
>  _Oh, I want to teach you a lesson in the worst kind of way_  
>  _Still I'd trade all my tomorrows for just one yesterday_  
>  _(I know I'm bad news)_  
>  _For just one yesterday_  
>  _(I saved it all for you)_  
>  _For just one yesterday_  
> [\--"Just One Yesterday," by Fall Out Boy](https://youtube.com/watch?v=dSfKSUd31MM) Lyrics [here](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/falloutboy/justoneyesterday.html).

The fires were burning bright so bright in the hot summer night. The smoke was thick and Rook kept coughing between whoops. Ashes rimed his lips and his mouth tasted bitter and greasy but oh this was the best raid yet this year and the Ke-Han were screaming and their trebuchets were burning merrily. They'd pushed too far forward, gotten too bold, and the Dragon Corps were here to remind them who was boss. He could faintly hear Jeannot's answering shout and laughed because _damn_ they were tearing these bitches _up_ tonight!

Out of the darkness, Rook heard Anastasia scream.

He wrenched Havemercy around so fast they nearly stalled, and the wind was cold like ice off the mountains and all crossways and _wrong_ but against the flames he could see a single dark figure in freefall under Anastasia's flashing wings.

" _AMERY!_ "

Rook only knew he'd screamed by the rawness in his throat as the wind tore at his face, his hair: he'd thrown himself forward and Have folded her wings and they dropped in a dive so steep it was nearly a freefall but Rook couldn't breathe couldn't think his eyes locked on the figure tumbling helpless through the air. All Rook could hear was the scream of the wind and his own heartbeat, acting on instinct alone, heart in his chest gone cold as the wind. Almost, _almost_ and the trickiest part was when Have flared her wings with a ringing _snap_ because every metal edge sharp like a blade _let the angle_ be right and the impact was so hard it drove the breath from Rook's lungs entirely. Amery screamed when he hit and the sound cut Rook's heart in two (but he only knew it later in memory).

He immediately had a problem: he had no way to hold on to Amery and steer and by bastion they needed to gain altitude _now_ or they were all dead on the rocks in the thin summer snow and Have was trying her hardest and Rook was pulling as best he could and then Amery's hand closed on his belt and with a cry Have lurched over the rocky ridge scraping the stones and sending sparks showering everywhere.

"Have _Have_ c'mon girl you beautiful girl c'mon!" Rook roared and she snarled back at him and arrowed out her neck and oh glory and fire and dragonsteel they were clear and up and up and Al-Atan was a crimson and gold streak beside them as Have wheeled on a wingtip and shot towards home with all the speed in her she had.

Rook grabbed at Amery's belt as his body slid over Rook's thighs and the smell of blood bit sharp through the smother of ash. But Amery's fingers were tight on Rook's belt, his head on Rook's knee and Rook's sole focus was on _home home home now_ Amery needed the help they needed help and oh god Amery....

Anastasia beat them home, a swift without measure and when she landed riderless (the girls were clumsier without a hand to guide them) and Al-Atan touched down behind her Rook saw the Airman below go into a frenzy. He brought Have down as gentle as he could but Amery still cried out. Hardly had Have gotten all her feet on the ground before Ghislain and Adamo swarmed them, reaching grabbing and Rook slid Amery into their hands as carefully as he could. There was blood slick down Amery's lips and chin, Rook saw in a single glance before they were gone.

It wasn't until Rook himself slid down from the saddle that he discovered he was shaking so hard he couldn't even stand. He went down to his knees in an abrupt collapse and all of a sudden his mouth was watering. He had barely time to wonder why before his stomach clenched and he doubled over vomiting. Dazed, he held his hair back with sooty gloves, streamers of drool hanging from his lips, and couldn't quite understand why he was shaking so bad. He threw up again, burning bile and spittle.

Have's voice sounded near, and her cool metal nudged his back. Rook spat to get the taste out of his mouth and swallowed gingerly.

Hands reached for him and Rook knew it to be Jeannot: slim dark hands with long wrists and he tried to help Rook to his feet. Rook scrabbled and dropped back to the floor, knees gone weak. He wiped his mouth with the grit of ash on skin, then peeled off his filthy flight gloves. Jeannot said something, fuzzy and indistinct in his ears like they were stuffed with wool.

Broad dark hands and Ghislain crouched beside him, drew Rook's arm over his shoulders, and stood. By dint of Ghislain's freakish strength Rook was dragged to his feet. He fumbled for footing, and Jeannot took his other arm. Neither man said a word, and by the time they were halfway to the showers Rook could bear his own weight again.

"Amery?" he asked Ghislain.

"Healers got him," Ghislain returned, his grave voice as cool and impartial as a mountain face. "Wash, Adamo wants the report from you."

Right. He would. Rook nodded and pulled away from Ghislain and Jeannot. He would shower under his own power, thank you, or at least drown in his own private disgrace. He wasn’t quite sure exactly which just this moment though, the way his knees kept buckling. All he could see, every time he closed his eyes, were flashes of Amery’s body in freefall, backlit against the flames.

By the time the water ran clear when he scrubbed his hands through his hair, he didn’t feel quite so shook up, but his hands still hadn’t quit shaking. He wasn’t sure why. He felt alright now? Mostly? Tired and worn out and cold but he could walk without feeling like he was going to fall unexpectedly. Except when he walked into Adamo’s office and sat down in a chair Adamo took one look at him and reached for a decanter of vodka on a nearby shelf.

“Do you need to see the medics too?”

“No, I’m fine,” Rook told him.

Adamo eyed him, poured a generous slosh into a mostly-clean glass and held it out. Rook took it with shaking fingers and tossed most of it back in one go. It make him cough hard and burned like dragonfire but he sat a little straighter after.

“I don’t like the colour you turned when you sat in that chair,” Adamo grumbled, but sat down again himself. “Now tell me what the hell happened out there.”

Rook took a deep breath, sipped at what was left of the vodka, and outlined what he knew...which wasn’t much. He hadn’t been paying a lot of attention to where Anastasia had gone, too concerned with setting shit on fire and not running into Al-Atan. He only vaguely realized it when Jeannot came in, trying to answer Adamo’s questions and getting frustrated by the fact that he _hadn’t_ been paying attention. Jeannot’s voice was calm but Adamo shared the vodka with him too and when Rook glanced over, Jeannot did look a little pale under his dark complexion.

It was dawn when they’d managed to pick the whole clusterfuck apart to Adamo’s satisfaction, which wasn’t much because Rook and Jeannot hadn’t been _paying attention_. Rook hadn’t ever really even thought about it that way, because they were taught to look after their own selves in the air, keep their dragons up and flying no matter what the cost: better to lose one dragon than more.

It hit him in the middle of the hall like a blow.

Amery had come just that close to _dying_.

And he’d known that but it hadn’t really felt real until just _now_ and he realized he’d just sat down in the middle of the hall and Jeannot was cursing over him in Old Ramanthe, bending down and catching at his shoulders. Rook pushed his hands off, and staggered to his feet again. He felt light-headed but weirdly focused now, like it sometimes happened after a raid. Light but clear, like a hollow reed, and when Jeannot asked him if he was alright Rook nodded.

“Tired,” he offered, shortly, and looked at Jeannot properly.

If he looked as bad as Jeannot did, not a wonder Adamo had given them both alcohol: Jeannot’s eyes were bloodshot and there was a haggard expression in his face. He looked like a wreck and Rook decided no he himself probably didn’t look much better. Jeannot ran a hand through his wet hair and just nodded, sighing. Rook nodded back, and they went their separate ways down the hall. Rook didn’t bother undressing, just crawled into his bed and closed his eyes.

Exhaustion sucked him under like a riptide on the harbour’s edge, and he slept hard and deep and woke on a dream of fire and falling with Amery’s name on his lips. He clutched at the sheets, catching his breath, and looked around the room. Dusk was dim in the corners and the sunlight was fading, and Rook realized hazily he’d slept all day.

Dreaming was the truth and for a moment Rook could only suck in a breath.

Amery.

He got to his feet shakily. He needed to eat and piss and Amery…

He needed to see Amery, because reality wasn’t real enough right now.

Barefoot and in his rumpled clothes, Rook was fingercombing sleep-tangles from his hair as he headed to the medic’s bay. He could hear laughter in the brightly-lit commons as he passed, but he didn’t bother looking. He slipped through the door, and like a magnet, like a magic spell he looked across the room right to where Amery lay in the cot. There was a medic nearby, but as Rook crossed the room, the man folded up his book and slipped away, eyeing Rook askance. His reputation preceded him but Rook didn’t give a damn.

Amery was asleep, breathing faintly raspy, and there was dried blood in the corner of his lips and crusted at the edges of his nostrils. There was bruising livid on the side of his face, his cheek and jaw shades of purple and black and blue but not swollen. That was the healer’s magic at least, and Rook sat on the edge of the cot gingerly. Amery stirred, grey-blue eyes under dark lashes, and his dry lips soundless shaped Rook’s name.

Rook found a soot-streaked hand and tangled his fingers with Amery’s. There was still strength in that calloused hand when Amery gripped his fingers and Rook felt relief like a rush of wind. He turned his head away and coughed, hard and deep: the smoke from last night and he turned back to look at Amery. Amery’s eyes were closed again, but his fingers were still tight and Rook breathed soft, to match the rise and fall of Amery’s chest under the covers. He closed his eyes, and tasted soot and antiseptic and the lingering scent of dragon’s fuel still in Amery’s skin and hair. It was real, almost painfully so, pressing against Rook’s skin so he felt raw and wrapped in it.

Amery was alive. He’d fallen and he was alive and Rook sagged where he sat, bones unstrung by the truth.

It was like he’d never known what he’d stood to lose until he’d seen it all in one firelit moment of terror.

He sat there until Amery’s hand slid lax and his breathing deepened into sleep.

When Rook untangled their fingers and stood up, his knees popped and he was stiff and there was a medic hovering just out of reach. Rook moved aside, and the woman stood over Amery. Rook looked away and found another medic just close enough.

“Hey,” he hissed, voice low, though he knew him talking wouldn’t wake Amery up at all. “He’s okay?”

The medic flinched a little, then eyed Rook speculatively. “He...yes. A few more days and the damage should be healed entirely.”

Damage. Rook almost asked. It tasted rotten on his tongue and he turned away instead. He walked out, but he wasn’t going to be gone long. He needed to eat, but he’d come back and watch Amery sleep. Oh he knew Amery’s soft breathing wouldn’t stop, but he still wanted to watch it and feel the reality of life press into him like fingernails biting into skin.

He met Jeannot in the hall, and the look between them was like a physical touch: guilt and relief and the absolution of the truth they both bore. _Amery was alive._ It was enough and it was more than enough and Rook nodded to Jeannot as he passed. He didn’t look back, because he knew exactly that the medic-bay door closed behind Jeannot, because that was the way it should be. The right of it.

It was Amery, though, that told Rook of the healed and knitting _damage_ , lying with his fragile not-yet-whole ribs across Rook’s stomach, an ear down over Rook’s heart, his face turned away. Rook stared up at the sky streaked with twilight amber and gold and green, and tangled his fingers with Amery’s. It felt like a sick parody of lovers, felt raw and desperate and too real to be borne without pain. Amery’s voice thrummed through him, and Rook breathed and tasted the bitterness of ashes in the clear evening air. He saw fire when he closed his eyes, fire and Amery’s outflung hands in the darkness.

“Rook?” Amery’s voice was quiet in the still air.

“Yeah, Amery?”

Amery got up on his elbows, moving tender still, and there was something in his eyes that made Rook’s breath stop. He shook his head, slowly, and Amery simply closed his eyes, face still and lips shaped yet over the question unasked. Rook closed his eyes, and his hand tangled with Amery’s felt like a knife between ribs, heavy and cold.

The silence between them tasted like ashes. Amery laid his head down again, his ear over Rook’s heart, his face turned away, and Rook’s free hand rose to cup over his other ear, fingertips tickled by Amery’s lashes.

“Forgive me,” Amery said, at last, and now Rook felt stabbed, his ribs opened up and his heart laid bare.

“No,” Rook blurted, and Amery winced. “Nothing to forgive.”

And it wasn’t enough, but it was all he could give. Amery’s hand in his tightened, and this time when the wind rushed over them, lying flat on the roof of the Airman in the fading dying light, all Rook could taste was sea-salt and the wild promise of flight.

* * *

Rook sat up with a gasp, and Amery’s name on his lips.

For a moment he stared into the darkness, and tasted salt on his lips and ash bitter at the back of his tongue.

Beside him, pale in the moonlight, Balfour sat up from the tangled bedsheets, and reached out to lay a hand on his arm.

Rook shrugged him off and swallowed the taste of ash and tears.


End file.
